Zeta
by JuhFreak
Summary: Episode novelization. Thanks to Antje for the handydandy transcript!


Knightvision #23: Zeta

**Adaptation:** J'Freak

**Story:** Robert Goodman

**Rating:** PG - violence

**Song:** "(I Am) Made from the Wires" by Joy Electric, from their album, "The Tick Tock Treasury."

Excerpt:

_Tin Man is what I'm called,  
Or Puritan.  
From the confederacy_

_Of my system._

**Notes:** I would like to give a big ol' thank you to Antje Farries, who typed the transcript for me. I _used_ to have this episode on tape, until I lent out the video and never got it back. So give Antje a hand! You wouldn't be reading this if it weren't for her!

_"As for you, you were dead in sin, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world… Like the rest we were by nature objects of wrath. But because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions."_

_-_Ephesians 2:1-5

**HAMILTON HILL HIGH**

**BIOLOGY CLASS**

"They found that identical twins who were raised apart- never even _met_ each other -still grew up with uncanny similarities. Now, the study proved what a powerful influence genetics has over us…"

The chubby, red-headed teacher droned on, staring dully at her classroom. She had been doing that all day, ever since making Jackie Maychek cry.

Not that Jackie hadn't been falling apart for months now. Ever since finding out that her father had been sustained in a half-dead state deep underground and using the earth itself to stalk her for the last decade, she had been understandably withdrawing from the world. At the same time, the world withdrew from her. Jackie didn't talk to many people about the day her house had been sucked underground, so most of her peers didn't know the details; but what they did know, they could always embellish.

Usually, Jackie would pour her heart out to just one person. Ms. Martell, the kind-hearted biology teacher. However, this morning had been different. Jackie had been the first one in class, probably because she had wanted some alone time with Ms. Martell, but the others arriving noticed that she looked worse than usual. Her face was an expression of deep hurt. Ms. Martell's expression was the most perplexing. It was stoic, bland, and indifferent.

Now, drawing near to the end of the hour, she was just the same. It was as if all love and life had been drained from her body as she rambled about genetic traits.

Max was the only one who still actively participated. Obviously thinking hard on the subject, she raised her hand.

Ms. Martell locked eyes with her. "Maxine?"

"But what about free will?" Max asked dryly. "I mean, I'm not going to believe that everything I am was completely decided before I was born."

Ms. Martell frowned. "Can we choose to disobey our own drives? This troubling question endures as researchers continue to discover the intent to which human behavior is preordained by biologic and environmental influences."

A brief pause. The class stared at their computer screens, and glanced at Ms. Martell again. She was surveying them grimly… and reciting the curriculum's text word for word.

Max exchanged a glance with Terry. He seemed particularly irked.

Jackie stared at the teacher miserably.

The bell rang, and the class launched into movement. Ms. Martell announced their assignments, and then turned to go, leaving her own things at the desk.

As they went to their lockers, and then walked outside, Max and Terry kept one eye on Ms. Martell. She remained in sight for the most part, going about her routine in a robotic manner. They soon caught up with her on the school stairs.

"I don't know," Terry said quietly, suspiciously, as he watched her. "Is bein' Batman just givin' me a suspicious nature?"

"Yes," Max said bluntly. "But there's still something weird about Ms. Martell."

Ms. Martell stopped. They followed her gaze to the parking lot, where a large orange truck blocked their path. Several uniformed workers were stationed around it, some surrounding a manhole, but none working. All stared at their hands, where they held small bleeping detectors. After regarding them, Ms. Martell quickly turned around, walking up the stairs again.

Again, her path was blocked, this time by a uniformed man with green-tinted glasses. "Zeta," he said. "Going back to school?"  
Ms. Martell looked over her shoulder at the other laborers. All focused on her now, and aimed double-barreled blasters.

"Whoa," said Max. "Remind me never to tick off the phone company…"

The man still spoke to Martell. "Last chance to come home quietly."

Her right elbow connected with his head. The sound of the blow was sickening, and sent the man reeling helplessly. As blaster shots filled the air, Martell whirled and slid down the handicap ramp. The moment her feet touched the parking lot, she made an impossible leap to the roof of the government truck. She disappeared over the side.

Terry and Max, who had hit their stomachs to avoid the wild shots, looked up to see their teacher making a desperate run for her car. They looked at each other.

"I'll call you," Terry said, and bounded away.

Martell's car squealed recklessly through the parking lot. Kids dove left and right. The armed men and women, piling into their van, pursued. Two of them leaned out the windows to fire after her.

They whirled onto the street, through the city, and onto a freeway. The gunfire, inconsiderate of civilians, continued to blast after Martell. Eventually, her hubcap was blown. As the tire bounced away, he car veered off the road.

Now in a park, it careened across the grass. A light post jolted it to a stop, badly crumpling the front hood. Across the park, three men ran forward to help, but the van pulled in front of them, blocking them from sight. The side door opened, and four agents poured out, firing at the car.

Three batarangs sailed through the air, knocking the blasters down the street. The agents looked up to see Batman swoop onto the van. "Where's your respect for teachers?" he sneered.

A fist plunged through the roof of the car. Everyone turned, watching as the metal was forced backward with inhuman strength. Martell appeared, unharmed.

Batman stared. "What the…"

Martell jumped out of the car, scowling, and reached for her chest… reached straight _through_ her chest! ...and withdrew a pair of blasters. She fired at the agents. They retreated into the van, retrieving weapons to return fire. Martell took several shots to the chest, and staggered back. Then she fired at them again.

"The synthoid is ours!" an agent shouted to Batman. "Either help, or get out of the way!"

No longer sure of whose side he was on, Batman stayed where he was. He straightened when he noticed a pair of women jogging up the path. They stared for a moment, tried to take cover behind some sparse trees, and finally ducked behind Martell's wrecked car.

Ignoring them, Martell continued to uncharacteristically fend for herself and fire at the agents. She took another shot to the chest and doubled over. Her form distorted grotesquely before her eyes. Then, with a brief flash of light, Miss Martell vanished completely, leaving behind the silvery chassis of a robot.

At this point, the transformation was not terribly surprising.

A stray laser plunged into the vehicle. A moment later, orange flame danced out of the engine. The joggers shrieked as the fire bloomed before them.

Finally, something that Batman could do. He quickly dove in to tuck them under his arms, and flew them to safety several feet away. They were sheltered behind his wings when the car exploded.

Gunfire ceased, the sound replaced by the roar of the natural fire. While the joggers ran off, Batman glared through the thick black smoke, searching for the synthoid that had once been his biology teacher.

All he saw was a male jogger, hurrying away from the accident.

"Move it!" an agent was shouting. "Don't lose the signal!"

The van started up, hurrying away. Batman followed on wings; but just as he'd expected, the synthoid had disappeared completely.

**LATER**

**MARTELL RESIDENCE**

The door blew open and crashed to the floor.

Barbara Gordon stood on the threshold, flanked by a pair of young officers who felt the need to stay near her. At the commissioner's signal, a small hover droid flew over her shoulder, scanning the dark room with its single red eye. It passed on without giving any alarm, implying that it was safe for them to enter. They did.

"Spread out," Barbara commanded.

"Uh, ma'am," asked one, "shouldn't one of us stay with you?"

She glanced at him. The young buck, new to working with her, who thought he knew everything. She smiled faintly, briefly. "Don't worry. You'll be fine without my protection."

Walking through the living room, she took careful note of everything. The taste in furniture, the types of books crammed on the extensive shelves. The house had a very lived-in feel… or it would, if not for the layer of dust that covered everything. She let the men carry on about their business, turning quietly to the one thing that still appeared to be in use: the basement door.

She touched the control pad, and the door slipped into the wall with a hiss. Narrow, wooden steps descended before her. Keeping her gun in front of her, she quickly and quietly made her way down. She couldn't find a light. She kept her instincts on high alert, thought, compensating for the dim light with every other one of her sentence.

An urgent moan sent her whirling. Her gun was trained at the level of her eyes. Soon, however, she saw the source of the voice- a round, feminine figure on a chair. Coming closer, she found it was Miss Martell, tied and gagged. A computer disk sat on the desk nearby. High School Biology.

**LATER**

**POLICE STATION**

**GORDON'S OFFICE**

Batman was nothing but a transparent shadow in the corner of the room. He'd succeeded in sneaking in just in time for the commissioner's appointment with Agent James Bennet.

Bennet, a leading man from the National Security Agency, was a tall and thin character. Despite his gangly limbs, his face had the marks of age. He was at least thirty, and probably felt older. He wore a black, neatly ironed suit. Green-tinted glasses shielded his eyes. All in all, he had a very stiff, tense appearance, as if the fate of the world were resting on his shoulders, and he was not about to let anyone interfere with his heroics.

"You're not cleared for this information," he said.

Barbara leaned across her desk formidably. "But since it's loose on my streets, you're going to be smart enough to tell me what I'm dealing with."

"Guess again," said Bennet. "The NSA is releasing information on a need-to-know basis."

"You know, Bennet, there's always been a bit of tension between the agencies and the 'lower' police force. It's a shame that nothing could ever really be done about that. I suppose that, since us poor, stupid subordinates will never understand anyway, we'll just have to resign ourselves to being a thorn in your side as long as you're in Gotham."

Bennet analyzed her for a moment. He cocked an eyebrow. Finally, he reached into his suit pocket to reveal a small disk. He pressed his thumb against the case.

"Heartbeat detected," said a tiny computer. "Analyzing fingerprint."

The case snapped open, and he handed the disk to Barbara. She loaded it onto her computer as he spoke.

"It's a robot, in layman's terms. An advanced tactical synthoid. IU-6. Designed for deep-cover ops: replace, interrogate, dispose. You're not supposed to like it."

The look on Barbara's face conveyed that she didn't, not one bit. Batman crept around her desk to peer over her shoulder at the computer. It displayed the schematics of Infiltration Unit Zeta.

"High endurance endo-frame," Bennet continued, "equipped with a full array of weapons and tools. A holographic emitter on board conceals the rig while enabling Zeta to mimic its targets."

"And this," Barbara guessed, "you people release into a _school._"

Bennet glared at the accusation. "We didn't _release_ it anywhere. It stopped following orders. Ours, anyway. Zeta was on a long-term assignment infiltrating a terrorist group. Six days ago it went renegade."

"Why?" she asked thoughtfully. "How?"

"We don't know. We think the terrorists got to its programming. We have to assume it's obeying them now. That means we take it out. In a school, on a street corner, wherever we get the shot."

Satisfied, Barbara removed the disk from her computer and handed it back. "We'll cooperate however we can," she promised.

Bennet left with his disk. Barbara watched solemnly for a moment, before a dry smile appeared on her face. "You get all that?"

Batman hesitated for a moment, shocked that she'd spoken to him. Then he switched off his camouflage. "Guess I'm not as good as I thought," he said.

"I don't like this Agent Bennet waging his war on my streets," Barbara said. "He's dedicated, sure. But that look in his eyes is a little too much like Bruce's. I trust if _you_ find the synthoid _first,_ you'll show more concern about who else gets hurt."

"At least we know it's out of the high school," Batman said.

"Don't be so sure. If this thing was at your high school for a reason… it might come back."

**THAT EVENING**

**GIBSON RESIDENCE**

"So the real Miss Martell is okay?"

"Yeah. The NSA might relocate her, though. They don't want a lot of people asking questions, and the synthoid probably wants her dead."

"Poor teacher."

Maxine was in her living room, straightening things out a bit and nearly ready to change into her night clothes. She'd been pleased to receive a call from Terry, explaining everything that had gone on. For once, he'd been true to his word.

Bruce's voice came on the line. "I hate to interrupt, but there are people on the streets who _really_ need the Batman's attention."

"The master calls," said Terry. "Talk to you later, Max."

"Bye," she said, but he'd already hung up. "Huh! Men."

Max turned off the phone and tossed it into the couch. She was standing to head for her bedroom when there came a knock at the door.

That always creeped her out a little, when she was home alone. Her mother and sister wouldn't be home for hours, and in Gotham, you never quite knew who might try to break in. Pushing her aside her flighty fancies, she approached the door and peered through the peep hole. Then she quickly swung the door wide.

"Dad?" she demanded, aghast.

Her father stood before her in the flesh. "Maxine," he said sternly, and touched her arm, drawing her out of the apartment. He closed the door behind her.

Max could barely grasp that he was here. She hadn't seen him in months. "What are you doing here?" she blurted.

"This way," he said, draping an arm around her. They walked past the duplex, and turned into an alley.

**THE NEXT DAY**

**HAMILTON HILL HIGH**

School was out, but as usual, Max was still there. Alone in the computer lab, she typed with extra fervor, enraptured in the monitor. She winced slightly as an NSA logo appeared onscreen. The word ACCESSING blinked over it. Then the screen cleared, and new text loaded: LEVEL 9 CLEARANCE.

Finally! The infiltration unit's schematics. She selected a portion of its shell and zoomed in on the base of its spine. A red rectangle, about four inches long, was highlighted.

Max smiled. The homing beacon.

"Hey, Max!"

Dana sauntered into the lab, a computer notebook tucked under one arm. Max quickly hit the escape key, replacing the NSA Web site with some old homework. "Dana," she said. "What's up?"

"I thought you might need a ride to Winn's study group tonight."

"No, thanks. I'll see you there." Max went back to typing.

Dana thought for a moment. "Okay…" Turning to leave, she stopped again. "But you _do_ know where Winn lives, right?"

"I'll get directions from her."

Dana giggled. Max looked up blankly.

"Him," Dana explained. When she got no reaction, she elaborated further. "You said 'her.' Winn's a guy."

Max faltered for a moment. "Sorry," she said. "Concentrating."

"What else is new," Dana teased, and strolled away.

_Winn._ Max frowned. She had absolute no memory of… _him,_ apparently. Modern parents always had to make things complicated with their radical, gender-neutral names. She would have to fix that; but not yet. There was still one last thing to take care of.

She got up, moving to a lab table where one of her "projects" was waiting. Sitting down and picking up a soldering iron, which was really small enough to be a pen, she resumed her work on it. Now that she knew where it went, all she would have to do was complete the project and hope that she'd assembled everything correctly.

Some one entered again- Terry. "Hey, workaholic," he called, "let's get some chow! Genoa and Swiss, your fav."

She didn't look up. "Thanks, Terry, but I have a lot of work to do. Maybe see you tomorrow?"

"You kidding?" he leaned on the table, forcing her to stop, and lowered his voice. "With what's been going on, the night job's been full-time lately. In fact, I could use your help covering with Dana."

Max smiled. "Sure! What does she need?

There was a pause as Terry frowned, glancing at her project, and then at her. "Know what? I just remembered I'm free. I _will_ see you tomorrow."

"Great," she said.

He left, and she eagerly went back to her work.

**LATER**

**OUTSIDE**

Batman perched on the roof of the school patiently. Bruce had been monitoring Max through the school's cameras, so he knew that she was finally about to leave the building.

If it really was her.

He kept remembering her face, flashing in the light of the soldering iron, bent so close to the sparks. Unharmed. Max would have worn goggles.

Below, the doors opened, and Max stepped into the moonlight. She marched down the school's steps, making a sharp left toward the industrial district a few blocks away. He followed.

**MEANWHILE**

**NSA HOVERVAN**

The interior of the van was pitch dark. Agents moved to and fro, their faces illuminated briefly by the glowing computer screens built into the vehicle. Their green-tinted shades accentuated everything else through night vision.

Agent Bennet leaned over Agent West's shoulder. A pulsing green dot danced across the screen.

"Signal's moving east," said West.

"It's heading for the factory district," said Bennet. "Get three scanner teams there now."

At the controls, Agent Lee started the vehicle. Everyone braced themselves as they rose several feet off the ground, tilting to sail away down the street.

**INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT**

In an alley running alongside the factory, Max found a small side door. She glanced around. Then she raised her arm. With her other hand, she reached into her wrist, effortlessly pulling a key card out of her flesh. She slipped it through the entrance lock, and the door opened.

Immediately, a loud drumming reached her ears, resounding from the assembly line within. Automated machines poured melted plastic, slapped them into shape, burned them into microchips. No human was in sight- computers ran everything here. Max strolled past the endless machines until she reached another room in the back. Once again, the key card was run through a slot.

The door opened. Inside, the real Max looked up, and immediately began to struggle against the duct tape holding her to the chair. "Help!" she called shrilly. "In here! Someone help me!"

The first Max stepped into the room. The hologram dropped, and the infiltration unit was revealed. No longer running silent, it whirred and clanked as it approached her, framing her face with one cold, skeletal hand.

"Go ahead," said the synthoid. "No one can hear you."

"Am I glad you're back," Max spat. "I couldn't live another moment without your charming repartee."

"I must remember to practice sarcasm," Zeta replied. He flicked his wrist, and the device he'd been building at school dropped onto a nearby table. "Now let's go over everyone you know at school again. And this time, be more thorough."

Max sighed loudly, and with gritted teeth, she began the review. Zeta listened silently, ignoring the way she continued to struggle against her bonds. When she seemed to have gone through the list of names, he asked, "And what about this boy named Winn?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Who else are you forgetting?" Zeta demanded.

Max paused. "Hey. Aren't you supposed to be at his _study group, right now?_"

The synthoid paused. Then it promptly turned, marching toward the door again.

Max leapt to her feet with a cry, and the sound of ripping tape. Zeta looked back at her with all the alarm his synthetic being was capable of. She never got a foot outside the door- he stopped her with one hand, and flung her back against a dusty table.

She'd barely recovered before he was marching toward her. Crying, Max shielded her face for the blow she felt certain was coming…

He stopped an arm's length from her, extending a paper bag. "Here."

Max peeked at him. She hadn't noticed the bag before now.

"You must be hungry," Zeta continued.

Hesitant, she took the sack, and found a sandwich within.

"Genoa and Swiss," said the robot. "Your 'fav.'"

Max fell to her knees, scarfing the sandwich hungrily. She'd never eaten so quickly in her life- in fact, she wished she could eat faster. Halfway through, her cheeks stuffed with food, she looked up at Zeta suspiciously. "Why so nice all of a sudden?"

She realized that it might have been poisoned. An easy, quick way to get rid of a person. Hands shaking, she stared at the remainder of the sandwich, refraining from swallowing.

"It is not 'all of a sudden,'" said Zeta. "I have taken great care not to injure you."

"Yeah?" Slowly, Max swallowed. "Well, being held prisoner isn't exactly five-star treatment."

"This detainment was necessary."

Her sandwich finished now, Max climbed to her feet. "Why?" she asked softly. "What are you after?"

Zeta held up the device he'd brought from the school. "My freedom."

She arched a brow.

"This filter will disrupt my homing beacon. They will not be able to find me again."

As he was still holding it out, she ventured to finger it curiously. "Those guys who are after you. They… built you?"

"Their department- yes. I was created for one purpose: to destroy. But I don't wish to destroy anymore."

"Prove it." She put her hands on her hips. "If you don't want to be a killer, then why carry around all those weapons? You're a regular terminator."

"They will destroy me. I must defend myself."

"Even if it means _killing _sentient _life_? You're a smart guy. If you really don't want to hurt anybody, then you'll find another way."

Utter silence. Was the robot considering her words, or considering how it might preserve itself by destroying her? Just as suddenly as before, Zeta turned, marching over to a large trash bin. A gun ejected from his chest, and he grasped it. Looking over at Max, he hesitated.

She smiled reassuringly. Then, with great ceremony, Zeta tossed the gun away. Another was ejected from his chest. Then a third. He started on the other side, depositing three more guns. Finished, he turned back to her.

"Now," Max cooed. "Isn't that a load off your chest?" She laughed.

Zeta stared at her. He walked on.

"H'm," she muttered. "We'll work on your sense of humor, too."

"I have other weapons," said Zeta, "but they will not be removed so easily. Will this suffice?"

"I'd say you're off to a good start- and a new life. Now, all we gotta do is convince the feds that you mean it." Max swung her arm around Zeta's shoulder, and they walked toward the door. "Isn't this easier than kidnapping?"

Zeta never got a chance to open the door. It was blasted in.

Dark smoke poured through, and the two of them stumbled back. Batman appeared in a drop-kick, knocking Zeta to the back of the room. A batarang plunged into the robot's chest, sending electro-magnetic pulses through his body. Batman glanced over at Max, who stood staring.

"Run!" he shouted.

Zeta's hand sprang to life, clutching Batman's throat. He gagged for a moment, before he was thrown out of the room. Max and Zeta ran after him. He'd landed on the conveyor belt.

Dazed for only a moment, Batman slipped to the floor, and turned. Zeta was charging and swinging a fist. Batman ducked, and delivered a left hook to the robot's head. A loud clang rang out.

"No! Wait!" Max shouted.

Two more punches from the Batman. Zeta's hands clamped over his waist, and he lowered his head, plowing him into the conveyor belt.

"Stop it! _Both_ of you!" Max screamed.

Zeta forced Batman's head down, holding it under the whirring, twirling machinery. Molten plastic gushed down. Batman kicked Zeta away, and jumped from the belt just in time.

Zeta's body crashed against the far wall, and he crumpled to the floor. Batman stood at the ready, opening a batarang in one hand. When Zeta charged, he tossed it. The batarang exploded into a bola that wound around the robot's torso, pinning his arms to his waist. He lost his balance and fell to the floor.

"Come on!" Batman ran to Max, pulling her to him and spreading his wings.

"Hold it!" she cried. "You don't understand, Zeta's okay!"

"What?" He hesitated. "Are you _nuts?_"

"Just give him a chance to explain…"

"It's a _'him'_ now? I've seen this thing in action, Max, it's a monster!

A few feet away, Zeta reared, snapping the bola. Batman tossed a batarang. A metallic hand knocked it away, and the blades ricocheted into the assembly line, cutting several wires. A polyethylene funnel sparked and leaned dangerously to one side. Its tip burned the air with bright light.

Batman fired his rockets, flying straight at Zeta.

Zeta held his ground. He reached one hand over his shoulder, burying it into a fuse box. The power surged through his system. He extended the other hand toward Batman, blasting him away again.

Batman screamed and somersaulted crazily through the air. His limp body landed on the conveyor belt. A few feet at a time, the belt carried him toward a hammer piston.

Zeta was making a break for it. Max grabbed his arm, dragged onward in her attempt to stop him. "No, Zeta! He'll be killed!"

She pointed helplessly at Batman. Zeta thought for only a moment.

He ran after Batman. Little time was left, now. A silvery hand clutched the Bat's suit material, and yanked him away. The piston fell, pummeling plastic. Batman crumpled to the floor.

"You alright?" asked Max, as she rushed to his side.

Batman rubbed his neck, and looked at her. Then they both looked up at the synthoid towering over them.

"Freeze! All of you!"

Agent Bennet was six yards away. A doube-barreled blaster was leveled straight at Zeta. Other agents emerged from all around, peering past goods and machinery. There was an instant wherein all were frozen. Then Zeta tried to move.

The agents opened fire. In a flash of silver, Zeta jumped and ran down the conveyor belt, grabbing the damaged funnel. Wire and metal curled and clicked. He'd become one with the weapon.

"Zeta, no!"

"Get down!" Batman pushed Max to the floor.

Zeta the giant gun was blasting lasers at the helpless agents, who dove helter-skelter for cover. Bennet managed to take two shots before finding shelter behind a large crate.

This time, Batman would not sit by idly. Leaving Max, he flew to the conveyor belt and knocked over Zeta, snapping the cords that attached him to the gun. The gun flew off-course. Batman picked it up, heaving the weight onto his chest, and fired at the ceiling. A sloppy cut was blasted through the plaster, and rubble toppled to the floor, momentarily filling everyone's sight with white haze. The humans coughed. Max tried to run.

Batman pulled her onto the conveyor belt by his side. Throwing his other arm around Zeta, he spread his wings, and shot heavenward. They flew through the hole in the ceiling.

**LATER**

**MONO-RAIL TRAINYARD**

Batman knew of a good hiding place several blocks away, where they could easily activate Zeta's disruptor with time to spare. The dark, abandoned yard was like an eerie ghost town of metal and rust, scattered with the discarded shells of empty train cars. The three fugitives took residence in an old passenger car, where Max set to work with Zeta's device and Batman's hand-held soldering iron.

"I was programmed to maintain the secrecy of my own existence," Zeta explained as she worked. "Anyone I replaced saw what I was, and could never be set free."

"But you didn't want to kill this terrorist guy?" Max inquired.

Zeta's head turned on his body, looking back at her. "He wasn't a terrorist. His _associates_ were terrorist. He was an accountant."

"Ah. So he was innocent."

"Yes… but that is not why I spared him. Replacing him required that I live with his family. I watched them experience life. I saw his daughter ride a bicycle for the first time. I could not deprive her father of seeing her grow just because he knew I existed."

"Wow," Max said thoughtfully.

Batman, standing nearby with his arms tightly folded, finally spoke. "So why the high school?"

"I needed computers and electronic equipment. Compared to a government site, a school has little security."

Max chuckled. "And once you saw who's who at the school, I was the natural choice. Who'd look twice at me spending all day at the lab?"

She stopped her fusing, and straightened. "Ready to rock!" she declared.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Batman murmured. He took Max by the elbow, pulling her away.

"What?" she asked.

Batman didn't answer until they'd reached the other end of the car, stepping outside. He kept his voice low, making his tone hard to read. "Look, I really hope I'm wrong about this… But he's programmed to _kill_. I'm not sure I can just let him go."

Max frowned sadly. "Ter, you heard him. He doesn't want to be violent anymore."

"No?" he retorted. "Did you see him go for those lasers back in the factory? Violence is hard-wired into him. It's what he is."

"He can fight that. I _know_ he can."

"Max. _He held you hostage._ Do you want to let him do that to someone else?"

Zeta stepped out behind Batman, who whirled suspiciously.

"I'm sorry," said Zeta. "It was my only choice. It is the only way I know how to acquire an identity."

Max looked at him cheerfully. "Well, we're going to have to come up with another way, aren't we? Does your memory still hold all those people you've… uh… _replaced_, before?"

"Yes."

"Well, then why not mix 'em up? You know, one guy's hair, another guy's eyes. That way, you could decide who you want to be."

Zeta tilted his head thoughtfully. "Mix 'em up," he echoed.

He turned away from them, staring into space. His form began to glow, replaced by a myriad of faces, bodies, races, and clothes. First he was a woman. Then an old man. Designer clothing and second-hand flannel flashed randomly. His voice changed, too, speaking names with each identity that passed. "Eugene Dolan. Madeline Martell. Colonel Lomak…"

When he finally stopped, he was a little of everything. Turning toward them was a teenage male, Caucasian, his medium-length hair gelled into imposing spikes on the top of his head. Angsty sunglasses and clothes transformed him into a slightly Gothic outsider, sporting Korean symbols on his red jacket. Just like every other teen in the city.

"I should go," Zeta said in a young tenor voice. "They've probably traced my dying beacon to this location."

"Good luck, Zeta." Max stepped forward to hug him. He stood still in an accommodating manner, while her arms passed straight through his force field to the cold metal beneath. After a moment of unrequited love, she backed off and gave him one last smile.

In the shadow of the trains, Batman watched silently. The deceptive form hopped over some strewn junk, hurrying across the dark lot. Batman hurried forward before he could completely disappear.

"I still need to keep an eye on him," he said. "At least until he's out of town."

"Just give him a chance, Ter," said Max.

He spread his wings and took off.

**MEANWHILE**

**NSA HOVERVAN**

"Still no signal. He lost us."

Bennet glanced up from the controls, looking to one of the subordinates who'd been assigned the endless search.

"We'll find him," Bennet promised, turning his eyes back to the street. "He's not getting out of Gotham."

"But where could he have gone?" asked West, out of turn.

"Isn't it obvious?"

After only briefly consulting a map, Bennet turned left. In the distance was the nearest mono-rail station.

The younger agents smiled in silent approval. They had heard correctly. James Bennet really was one of the best in the agency.

**LATER**

**TRAIN STATION**

Despite the late hour, the station was still busy. That came as no surprise, in a booming industrial city such as Gotham. There was the usual amount of businessmen, the occasional troubadour, the norms who all looked alike. Several young adults seemed ready for a retreat to the mountains.

Zeta could be any one of them.

The PA system crackled. "Now arriving on Track 2, Monorail 8 from Center City. Please step away from the track. Passenger Anne French, please meet your party at the east information kiosk."

Good. Nothing was leaving yet. Agent West surveyed the crowd, and then raised a pair of holoviewers to his eyes. Even through the glowing filter, everyone seemed normal. It didn't mean that Zeta wasn't hiding behind some one, but it was the best he could do, for now.

Agent Rush's voice came through his com-link. "Rail Six, check in."

"Rail Six," he replied. "All clear."

West turned to search the next terminal.

Zeta strolled past him.

Batman swooped over a train, following it into the station, where he hid among the rafters of the ceiling. He quickly scanned the crowd for any sign of Zeta. Maybe the robot had changed its identity already. Batman knew he would have.

The PA system crackled again. "Passenger Anne French, please meet your party at the east information kiosk. Now boarding on Track 4, Monorail 18, bound for Dakota City."

A pair of young women passed under him, chattering loudly as they housted their ski-bags. "The radio said the snow was at 4,000 feet."

"Isn't that kinda deep?"

Batman rolled his eyes and continued searching. Definitely not Zeta.

"Aaah!" Brief shouts, and a clatter, drew his attention again. A girl was apologizing. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't… OH!"

The crowd had frozen now. Everyone was staring, closing in around the young women in horror. A teenage boy stood before them. One of the girls' skis had punctured his stomach, and now protruded out of his back. A girl allowed herself a faint scream.

Throughout the station, agents were beginning to notice, too. Batman crouched at the edge of the rafters, ready to fly. Zeta just stared at the ski poking through his hologram.

"Target spotted. Rail station six. Southwest sector."

West drew his gun. "Freeze, tin man!"

Zeta calmly dislodged the ski from his body. He glanced at the girls. "Excuse me."

_Thwack!_ The ski swung into West's face, knocking him flat on the floor. Other agents opened fire. That was all it took to send the station into an utter madhouse of screaming, stampeding pedestrians. While lasers seared the air, Zeta ran, dropping his hologram. His body unfolded into its normal height. The travelers' terror escalated.

Batman dove from the rafters and took out an agent. "You're going to hurt somebody," he muttered.

"It's in there!" Bennet's voice shouted.

Batman followed the noise, and saw agents pouring through a doorway. As it swung closed behind them, he read the label: PERSONNEL ONLY.

Aisles of baggage and boxes were stacked to the ceiling. Agents crept through them carefully, their eyes turning every which-way. in amid crates and boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. They walk around some, looking. They were on edge; but not looking up. Batman landed atop one of the stacks, and sent an avalanche of luggage toppling onto them. Two were buried.

Another agent turned and saw this, and fired at him. Batman had already leaped into the air. A batarang cut toward her, slicing the gun from her hand. She gave a cry of pain. He descended to knock her unconscious.

Bennett was alone. He and his partner had split up long ago, and frankly, he almost preferred it. No one to slow him down, now. He glanced around, and took a left.

Zeta, too, was alone, and running on silent. His metal feet tapped the floor quietly as he looked over his shoulder, and then peeked around the corner of an aisle. He turned left. Another aisle came to an end, and he turned right.

A laser grazed past his head. He jumped aside quickly, as the boxes beyond him were seared by Bennet's fire.

Agent West was running for his life. He didn't get far. A bola soon wound itself around his torso and, arms pinned, he lost his balance. He fell on his face.

Seeing an open door, Zeta made a break for it. Bennet fired after him twice. Missed. He was forced to follow, this time at a dead run.

He entered a corridor. It was long, but Zeta was nowhere to be seen. Finding no doors on either side of the hallway, Bennet had to assume that the synthoid had already run through. He followed quickly, but nothing revealed itself. Eventually, he slowed to a walk.

"Come on out, Zeta!" he called.

No answer, of course.

"Nobody blames you. You're malfunctioning."

Were those footsteps? Bennet crept toward them. He turned his head aside, trying to throw his voice. "Let us take a look at you. We'll make you better again, we'll fix your programming."

The tapping sound was behind him now. Bennet changed direction. Zeta was evading him rather well, but he was patient. He was calm. He knew what he was doing.

No talking now. Zeta's location had become sketchy again, and Bennet had to listen carefully.

A metal hand struck the back of his head, arcing away with chunks of hair and blood. Bennet groaned and stumbled. Zeta struck him again, sending his glasses pattering across the floor. With a grunt, Bennet fell onto his back.

Zeta's next blow was to the blaster. The synthoid's strength and precision easily knocked the weapon loose, and he caught it in the air, training it at Bennet's head.

Bennet froze. He didn't breathe.

Zeta knew that Batman was less than four meters away, watching. He heard the vigilante, too, cease to breathe, and watch in apprehension. A moment later, Batman whispered, "Aw no, Zeta, don't."

He looked into Bennet's eyes and saw that the man's thoughts were elsewhere- still totally aware of the gun, but focused on something that filled him with grief. Zeta racked his memory. Did Bennet have any loves? As an infiltration unit, he was not privy to that information. He only knew that this man had become his enemy.

This man's life was in his hands.

After only seconds of evaluation, Zeta crushed the blaster in his mighty grip. He tossed it away, junk.

"I am recreated," he declared.

Behind him, he sensed Batman relaxing. Before him, Agent Bennet looked quizzical. However, there was no hiding his relief.

Turning, Zeta strutted away, while Batman melted into the shadows. That was all the time Bennet needed to reach for the snub-barrel gun strapped to his ankle. Taking hasty aim at Zeta's back, he pulled the trigger. A perfect shot. A deafening blast.

Zeta's joints locked instantly in the white-hot flash that emitted from his body. For a moment, he rattled and shook. Somehow, he managed to break free and run on. Bennet rose to follow.

Zeta burst out of the building, onto one of the many elevated lots that sanctioned the city. He ran across the open, intending to vault himself onto a nearby parking garage. There was too little time, and no cover. Three agents soon saw him and took the easy shot. He staggered from side-to-side, unbalanced by the blasts. Behind him, Bennet joined in. Zeta tried to change direction.

Another agent was waiting. "There it is!" he cried.

They were closing in, like vultures, like wolves, those brave men and women with a strong sense of duty. Their lasers let fly from all around. Soon, Zeta could hardly take a step before taking more damage. He was stumbling backward. He was running out of room to do so.

The agents stood together. Heroes taking down the killer robot. That's what they were, Zeta supposed. Heroes. He was the enemy. In their minds, he was controlled by an enemy who would destroy all the innocence left in the world.

He backed up against the rail. His sensors quickly evaluated the three-story drop.

They wouldn't stop firing.

Batman was a ways behind them, just watching.

Zeta, both inevitably and by choice, tumbled over the edge.

Batman watched, his heart sinking. For a while, for just five minutes, he had picked a side. Too late. The side he had chosen was now wreckage on a Gotham street.

The gunfire stopped immediately. Bennet ran to the edge, followed by the others, to look down. Quietly, Batman rose to the level above, to look down on them all, and see what had become of the synthoid.

Zeta lay on the concrete. A twisted form. Splayed limbs. Small fires burned from within him, and a dark trail of smoke rose into the sky before vanishing.

"All that government funding," Bennet sighed. He pointed. "Get down there, and retrieve what's left of it."

He and the agents dashed off to find a staircase.

When the coast was clear, Batman pushed away from the building, spreading his wings. They caught the air, allowing him to safely but rapidly descend to the street. He landed within a few feet of Zeta's remains. He sighed.

What would he say to Max?

Looking at the fires burning across Zeta's body, he wondered what exactly was fueling them. Then he realized…

A soft hum arose, and all of Zeta was obscured in a soft, green glow. Then it all disappeared, revealing a dented, burned, but very functional synthoid. He climbed to his feet and faced Batman. Then his hologram glowed again. Zeta was a man in his late forties, with a hard face, graying hair, and a long brown trench coat.

Batman smirked. The hologram smiled stiffly. Turning, Zeta hurried down the alley.

Batman unclipped an explosive from his belt and shot into the air again. When he was a story or two higher, he let the bomb fall. It hit the ground, sending a violent blast through the alley, particularly in the spot where Zeta had lay. A huge mess, and real smoke, ensued.

The agents flooded the alley a moment later, each talking and wondering. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Self-destruct?"

They gathered around the debris for a moment. Then, with a fatigued look, Bennet pointed again. "Well? Start digging!"

_That oughta keep you busy for a while,_ Batman thought.

**MEANWHILE**

**MONO-RAIL STATION**

"Final boarding call: Mono-rail 17 on Track 3, for Spring City."

At the last minute, the everyman stepped onto the car. He swiftly walked to the back, in the least-populated section of the car, and seated himself.

_Spring City._

That was in Maryland, he thought knowingly. He wondered what he might find there.

_My name is Zeta. I was built as a weapon to destroy… but I will not destroy anymore._

Adaptation by J'Freak, 2005.

The original story is the property of Time/Warner and DC Comics.

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